


Isak im Pelz

by shakespeareandsunshine



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, Miscommunication, Spanking, Violation of the Bro code, also of feather dusters, egregious misuse of shoelaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11001252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareandsunshine/pseuds/shakespeareandsunshine
Summary: “What did Magnus lead you to expect?” Isak asks.“Oh, you know,” Even responds, nonchalant as anything. “More leather, and dark lighting, and like, bars on the windows and stuff.” He pauses, then looks to the floor, almost nervously. “I mean, that’s what all the sex dungeons in the movies have.”And wait, what?(Otherwise known as Isak and Even's misadventures in BDSM)





	Isak im Pelz

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to the greatest gc ever, for editing, commenting, and cheerleading the fuck out of this fic. 
> 
> Extra shout-out to Immy for being a true inspiration ;)

There is a beautiful boy standing at the bar.

There is a beautiful boy standing at the bar, and Isak can’t tear his eyes away. The boy is tall and lean, with a smile that lights up the whole damn room and bone structure that could give Keira Knightley a run for her money. If Isak doesn’t manage to fuck that boy tonight, he just might die.

“If I don’t fuck that boy tonight, I just might die,” he tells Eva.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of an exaggeration?” she replies, not even looking up from her phone.

“Yeah, man,” Magnus throws in. “No offense, but you sound a little desperate.”

Isak rolls his eyes and goes back to admiring the way the boy fills out his sinfully skinny jeans, not even bothering to dignify Magnus’s comment with a response. As if he’s one to talk anyway.

He can feel the moment that Eva looks away from her phone and notices the boy too, because her whole body stiffens against Isak’s.

“Holy shit,” she says appreciatively. “I can see what you mean. He’s _hot_.”

“What? Where? Who?” Magnus practically bounces out of his seat looking for the guy, which would be endearing if he wasn’t focusing in the entirely wrong direction. Isak would point the boy out if only to stop Magnus from making a scene, but Eva gets there first, leaning right over his lap to grab Magnus by the chin and forcibly turn his gaze in the direction of the bar. 

“Wow, he _is_ hot,” Magnus says, with just as much appreciation as Eva had. “If you don’t fuck that boy tonight, _I_ might die.”

“Glad you approve, Mags,” Isak says drily. “But we don’t even know if the guy is gay.”

At this, Eva drops her phone on the table with a finality that scares Isak, just a little.

“Isak,” she says, dangerously. “We are in a _gay bar._ I highly doubt that guy is straight but so help me, if you chicken out I will fuck that boy myself and I will _enjoy_ it.”

Eva’s outburst has caused Magnus to shrink back against Isak in something that Isak thinks could be awe, but could just as easily be fear. Isak can suddenly see exactly how Eva and Eskild became such great friends.

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands raised in appeasement. “I’ll go talk to him. But what do I even say?” Isak is aware that he might be whining, but he can’t help it. He’s just this side of tipsy, and really, what would he say?

“Leave that to me,” Magnus answers. “I’ll be the best wingman you’ve ever had. Operation Get-Isak-Laid is a go.” And with that, he’s out of his seat before Isak can stop him, and Isak isn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

Instead of worrying about Magnus’s questionable wingman abilities, he goes back to watching the beautiful boy at the bar. May as well look his fill while he still can, because once Magnus gets to him, there’s no telling what will happen. Magnus gets to the boy quicker than Isak would like, tapping his shoulder and pointing in Isak’s direction, and Jesus _fucking_ Christ he’s pointing right at Isak, isn’t he.

“Jesus fucking Christ, he’s pointing right at me, isn’t he?” he moans, letting his head thump down on the table. It’s slightly sticky with something Isak desperately hopes is alcohol, because at least alcohol is germicidal, right? Isak lifts his head, only to let it thunk back down again for good measure.

“Stop that,” Eva says, rolling her eyes. “You’ll give yourself a concussion.”

Isak only groans in response. They sit in silence for a moment, Eva contemplative; Isak self-pitying. Then, Eva heaves herself up with a sigh.

“Oh alright, I’ll go over there and fix things,” she says. “But you owe me, Isakyaki.”

Isak looks up, and the absolute relief that floods his features is enough to make Eva laugh.

“Yes, thank you Eva, I will owe you the fucking world. Just, help. Please.”

Eva merely waggles her fingers at him in the approximation of a wave and heads over to the bar. This time, Isak doesn’t look away as Eva drapes her arm around the beautiful boy, and Isak should really come up with a better name for him, maybe one with less alliteration? The boy looks interested in what Eva has to say, and the more interested he seems, the more animated Eva becomes. Isak can see Magnus interrupting every so often, and he’s suddenly curious about what they could possibly be saying.

The curiosity is killing him, or maybe it’s his bladder, so Isak decides to kill time by taking a bathroom break. He can head over to the bar and the boy lounging there on his way back. Hopefully with the combined efforts of Magnus and Eva, the boy might even consider coming home with him. It’s worth a shot. Well, probably. Maybe after one more beer. 

The bathroom is nicer than the usual dive-bar fare, but only slightly. He’s mostly finished when he hears the door creak open, and he knows it’s bad bathroom etiquette to look, but he’s only human and it’s not his fault that he gets easily startled, okay? Just his luck, the intruder is the boy from the bar, now fixing his gravity-defying hair in front of the ridiculously tiny mirror.

“If you take a picture it’ll last longer,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. The boy’s voice is deeper than Isak would’ve expected, but Isak can’t think about that now because oh god the boy probably thinks he’s creepy as fuck.

Isak hastily zips up his jeans and goes to wash his hands, because he’s not a creeper, goddammit. And he wasn’t staring, no matter what the boy might think. The boy just stands there, hip cocked against the sink, a slight smile on his face. But looking at that smile might turn into staring at that smile, so instead Isak concentrates on washing his hands, starting with his fingernails and moving up, the way he always sees surgeons on TV do.

When his hands are finally clean (so fucking clean), Isak moves towards the automatic dryer, only to find the boy blocking his path.

“My name’s Even, by the way,” he says, apropos of nothing. And, like, that’s good information to have, Isak’s not gonna lie, but at the same time, his hands are literally dripping. The air dryer is right fucking there, if only Even would just move.

“Nice to meet you, Even,” Isak says. “You gonna let me go dry my hands anytime soon?” He shakes a water droplet off his hand for emphasis.

“That depends,” Even answers, and the smirk on his face makes Isak’s mouth go dry.

“On what?”

“On what I’ll get for giving up my prime bathroom real-estate.”

“I’m sorry, but did you just refer to this patch of tile as ‘prime bathroom real-estate?’” Isak asks incredulously. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty sure that’s dried vomit you’re standing on.”

Even just shrugs, shameless.

“Yup. So what will you give me for it?”

Isak isn’t really sure how to answer. It’s not like he hits on cute boys in bathrooms regularly, and he’ll never forgive himself if he fucks this up. Hell, _Magnus_ would never forgive him if he fucks this up. Should he offer a blowjob? Because, like, it would be his pleasure. But what if Even isn’t into that? Isak’s never met a guy who didn’t like blowjobs before, but Even might be the first. Or maybe Even wants him to start small, continue the banter. Offer to pay him back in coffee sometime? People generally like coffee, right? Maybe he’s read the situation wrong entirely and Even wants money? Is this how people usually get mugged in dive-bar bathrooms?

Isak’s floundering must be more visible than he thought, because Even’s smile turns kinder, gentler.

“I can be easily bribed with a kiss, you know,” he says. “That is, if you want to.”

And oh god does Isak want to. He leans forward and presses his lips firmly against Even’s, leaving no room for misunderstanding just how much he wants this. The kiss stays like this, close-lipped and sweet for approximately 2.5 seconds, before Even mumbles a quiet _fuck this_ and goes for it, coaxing Isak’s mouth open with his tongue, turning the kiss into something hot and desperate and filthy.

Isak presses forward then, backing Even up against a wall--or maybe the door? Isak doesn’t know, doesn’t care, because Even’s tongue is currently tracing his teeth right now and it’s all Isak can do to stay standing. He has one hand on the cool porcelain of the sink for support, and another fisted in Even’s hair as Even pulls back to kiss along his jaw, down his neck. Even pauses for a bit at his collarbone, worrying the skin there with his teeth, and it’s fucking amazing, even though Isak is pretty sure it’ll leave a mark. He grinds his hips against Even’s, adjusting his grip on the sink for better purchase… and succeeds in spraying them both with soap from the pump-dispenser, which isn’t exactly the sexiest way for this encounter to end.

Isak wants to kick himself, but Even doesn’t seem to be all that put out.

“We should probably,” he says, punctuating each phrase with a press of his lips against Isak’s. “Move this.” Kiss. “Somewhere.” Kiss. “Else.”

It takes Isak a second to catch on, but when he does, all he can do is nod, a little flabbergasted, because he really didn’t think bringing Even home would be so easy.

“Yes please,” he answers, a little too quickly to be cool. But who gives a shit about cool when uncool has Even’s entire face brightening like he swallowed a fucking lightbulb or something. “Your place or mine?”

Even’s eyes go dark at that, his grin turning just this side of wicked, and holy fuck Isak can’t breathe for wanting him. “Your place,” Even says. “Definitely your place.”

His decisiveness is… confusing, to say the least, but hey, Isak isn’t going to push his luck. A beautiful boy wants to go home with him, so who is he to argue? He leads Even out of the bathroom, past the bar where Eva and Magnus watch them go with matching shit-eating grins, and down to the tram stop on the corner.

Isak can see the tram approaching already so they run for it, hand in hand, laughing wildly as they catch it with moments to spare. Even’s laugh is even more radiant than his smile, and Isak wants it for himself, wants to swallow it up and hold it inside him, let it illuminate the darkest parts of himself. But he can’t, so he settles for kissing Even once more, over and over again until they reach his stop, and then his apartment.

He sends a quick text to the Kollektiv group chat, letting Eskild and Linn and Noora know that they better make themselves scarce. He spends a few more minutes making out with Even against his apartment door, giving his roommates time to disappear, before letting them both in.

“Huh,” Even says, and Isak isn’t sure what he expected him to say, but ‘huh’ wasn’t it.

“Huh what?” Isak asks. “Good huh? Bad huh? I suddenly regret every life choice that ever led me to this point huh?”

“No, nothing like that,” Even rushes to reassure him, pressing a kiss to Isak’s temple for good measure. “Just huh. This wasn’t how I expected your apartment to look. I guess this is why they say never assume.”

“What did you think my apartment would like?” Isak is genuinely curious. Is he supposed to have, like, more paintings or something? Proper curtains? A houseplant? What do responsible adults keep in their houses? Probably not empty pizza boxes, so Isak tries to kick the one he sees under the couch as surreptitiously as possible.

“I don’t know,” Even muses. “I think I expected something a bit more doom and gloom.”

And, really? Doom and gloom? Despite Eskild’s assertions otherwise, Isak really doesn’t see himself as a fluffy ball of sunshine. But doom and gloom is pushing it.

“Do I really give off that impression?” Isak asks, looking down at himself. His outfit’s a little edgier than he’d usually go for, black leather jacket over a grey tee and a pair of black jeans, but nothing he thinks would scream “darkness and despair.”

“Well, no, not really,” Even admits. “It’s just something your friend, the blonde one, said?”

And if that’s not the singularly most terrifying thing Isak’s ever heard. Magnus says a lot of things, all of them well-intentioned. But Magnus’s good intentions are the ones that probably pave the road to hell, because any shenanigans Isak’s had to extricate himself from were almost always of Magnus’s doing. That’s the whole reason he made Eva go over and help.

“What did Magnus lead you to expect?” Isak asks. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad, because Even’s still here, isn’t he?

“Oh, you know,” Even responds, nonchalant as anything. “More leather, and dark lighting, and like, bars on the windows and stuff.” He pauses, then looks to the floor, almost nervously. “I mean, that’s what all the sex dungeons in the movies have.”

And wait, what?

“Wait, what?” Isak splutters. This has to be some kind of joke. “What do you mean, sex dungeon?”

“Don’t you have one? Your other friend, Eva? She was telling me about your whip collection, and…”

Isak is no longer listening. He doesn’t need to. He can figure out what happened on his own. Fuck Magnus for thinking this was a good idea, and fuck Eva for thinking it a hilarious one, because he knows his friends, he knows that this is exactly what Magnus would think would get him laid, and exactly what Eva would think of as an amazing prank. He is going to kill them both. Preferably slowly.

But Isak has no time to plot his revenge. Even is standing right here, in his apartment, expecting some BDSM shit and Isak had better deliver because if Even walks out now, Isak might actually cry. He’d been looking forward to that blowjob, goddammit.

Which is why Isak hears himself say, his voice sounding funny to his own ears, as if coming from a long way away, “I do have all those things, actually.”

“Do you?” Even looks around eagerly, and even though Isak hadn’t started the lie, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t finish it.

“Yeah totally,” he says. “I just don’t have all of it here. Most of it is… in storage. Yeah, in storage from when I moved in a while ago.”

Isak holds his breath, and crosses his fingers for good measure, but Even appears to believe him.

“Make sense,” he says. “That stuff probably takes up a lot of room.”

“You have no idea,” Isak replies. And that’s that.

Except for how Even looks a bit crestfallen, a bit disappointed, and logically Isak knows it isn’t his fault, but still. He just really wants to see Even smile again. So before his brain can catch up with his mouth, he finds himself offering, “But I can still tie you up. I mean, if you want?”

“Yeah, that’d be cool,” Even says. 

And the thing is, he sounds chill about it, like Isak had just asked him if he’d like some cream with his coffee, but his demeanor is giving him away. He’s almost vibrating with excitement, and fuck, Isak hadn’t pegged him as the kind of guy who’d be into kinky shit, but apparently he is. So Isak improvises.

He leads Even into his bedroom, and Isak is suddenly grateful for the fact that he actually made his bed that morning. Even is already pulling off his clothes, so Isak follows suit, trying not to get too distracted by every newly revealed inch of skin that catches his eye. Even finishes faster than he does though, and just waits, sitting on the end of Isak’s bed expectantly in nothing but his boxers, and _right_ Isak is supposed to be tying him up. Fuck.

Isak isn’t sure he has anything to tie Even to, much less with, but that’s not something he’s gonna worry about just yet. Even’s still waiting though, and Isak is running out of time, so he goes with the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Close your eyes,” he orders, a little shakily. “And, and, lay on your stomach.” Even does so without hesitating, and Isak isn’t sure how to process that, so he doesn’t, just casts his eyes around the room desperately looking for anything that might resemble a rope of some kind. His eyes catch on an old pair of running shoes sitting in the corner. Isak hasn’t worn them very much recently because screw running, so he figures it’s about time to put them to better use. He whips the laces out of the shoes as quickly and quietly as he can, hoping against hope that Even doesn’t become restless and look around to see what’s taking him so long.

Laces in hand, however, leaves Isak with the dilemma of what to tie Even _to_. He knows bedposts are popular, because Magnus made the boy squad watch _50 Shades_ together once. “For science!” Magnus had insisted, not very persuasively. Mahdi just wanted an excuse to throw popcorn at the screen, and Jonas was in an indulging mood that evening, so Isak went with it, long-sufferingly. He barely lasted fifteen minutes before taking an extra-long bathroom break, but he saw enough to know that bedposts were involved. Which is all well and good for Christopher or Carlos or whatever the fuck the douchebag’s name was, but Isak’s bed doesn’t have bedposts. Hell, it’s barely a bed, and more of a mattress on top of a box spring on the floor.

What Isak does have though is a bedside table. And if he ties the two shoelaces together, with one end attached to the lamp resting on top, he could probably make the other end stretch all the way to Even’s wrist if he tries. He climbs on to the bed, and Even shifts a little at the sudden motion. His shoulders tense, and Isak wonders if Even is as nervous as he is.

“Hey,” he says, smoothing a hand along Even’s shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed, if he should, but he thinks it might be okay, because Even visibly relaxes at his touch. When he pulls his hand away, he can’t help but feel a sense of loss, which is fucking stupid, because it’s just Even’s shoulders, alright, and they aren’t even particularly broad or anything like that. But they are nice shoulders, as far as shoulders go, and Isak could stroke them all day, except he can’t since Even is only letting him stroke his shoulders because Isak promised to tie him up, so Isak had better stop procrastinating.

He leans over and ties one of the shoelaces to the lamp, which seems to work, but Isak isn’t going to count his blessings just yet. He reaches for Even’s wrist and begins to tie the lace to it, so focused on the task at hand that he doesn’t even realize Even has turned to watch him until he speaks.

“I know I’m not supposed to talk, but… are those _shoelaces_?”

“No?” Isak says, somewhat unconvincingly. “These are, uh, specialty ropes. From a specialty rope store.”

“Well they look an awful lot like shoelaces to me.” And from anyone else, it would sound judgemental, Isak thinks. But from Even, the teasing feels genuine. Like he’s laughing at the situation, but not at Isak. It’s nice, and Isak resolves to make this the best tying-up Even’s ever had. Isak’s waited just a beat too long to answer, so instead he rolls his eyes and lets his gaze drop down significantly to Even’s beautiful, beautiful mouth. Even swallows, visibly, but gets the hint and smiles cheekily before turning his face back into Isak’s pillow.

The second knot is easier, maybe because Isak made a mistake, or maybe because he’s finally getting the hang of this tying-people-up-thing. Either way, Even’s left wrist is now wrapped up in Isak’s favorite maroon scarf, which is tied to the leg of the chair Isak had been piling his laundry on, and Isak finally allows himself to let out a shaky breath. He did it. He tied Even up. _Even_. Is tied up. To the bed. _Isak’s_ bed. Holy shit, what is he supposed to do now?

“So, what would you like me to do now?” Isak asks. The only response he gets is a raised eyebrow and another cheeky grin. “Just answer the question, you idiot.” Isak knows he sounds hopelessly fond, and yeah, it’s probably too early for that, but whatever. Even is tied up in shoelaces, so he is clearly not in a place to judge.

“You’re the one in charge here,” Even says, turning to look at Isak as much as he can. Isak can see his poorly-constructed knots straining, but the shoelaces hold, for which Isak is silently, _pathetically,_ grateful. “But I’m not gonna lie,” he continues, “I was kind of expecting you to spank me.”

Of course. Of fucking course.

Isak’s suddenly secretly glad Magnus got them all to watch _50 Shades_ because, well, that’s the only example of spanking he’s ever seen. Isak’s not exactly a blushing virgin; he’s watched porn, of course, but like, of guys doing it fast and dirty in gas station bathrooms, or half-dressed in back alleys, or once over the hood of a cop car. Not in sex dungeons, or whatever the fuck kind of porn Even’s been watching. Nothing against Even, but Isak’s never found anything particularly sexy about being hit. But if Even does, he’ll try his best. He hopes Even won’t be disappointed.

If Isak were to ever admit to watching _50 Shades,_ he’d have to confess he watched most of itwith his hands over his eyes. He’s not squeamish, okay, it’s just... the less he knows about ben-wa balls the better. But from what he can remember seeing, that Cameron guy used a paddle to spank his girlfriend, and Isak doesn’t own anything vaguely resembling a paddle. Unless….

“Wait right here,” he says, hightailing it out of the room. It occurs to him too late that Even can’t exactly go anywhere, tied up as he is. Oh well. Now is not the time to worry about saying the wrong thing. Now is the time to worry about finding something to spank Even with, fast. Unfortunately, the living room is still pretty neat from Noora’s last cleaning spree (pizza boxes notwithstanding) although her cleaning supplies are still out, leaning against the kitchen door. Eskild’s neon pink feather duster is most prominent, so Isak grabs it and heads back to his room. It’s not a very good substitute for a paddle, but Isak doesn’t want to leave Even all alone in his room for too long.

It’s a good thing he came back when he did, because Even’s all tensed up again, and Isak feels terrible. Even relaxes a little when he hears Isak walk in, but not enough, so Isak sits back down next to him, rubbing a hand across his back until Even’s shoulders relax. Even’s face is still turned away from Isak, and that won’t do, not really, so Isak threads his fingers through Even’s wonderfully thick hair and tugs until Even is finally looking at him, somewhat confusedly.

“Is this still what you want?” Isak asks softly. “It’s okay if it’s not.”

Even smiles, and _oh_ Isak doesn’t think he could ever get tired of that smile. He nods, just once, and right, Isak had told him to be quiet, hadn’t he?

“Okay then. I’m gonna start,” Isak says, more to himself than Even. “You can stop me if you want, okay? Please, stop me if you want.”

Even nods again, in understanding, and then turns his face back into Isak’s pillow. Isak’s never going to wash those pillows again. He stands up and moves to the foot of the bed, where he stands, gazing at Even’s body, considering.

He doesn’t think _50 Shades_ would be a very good guidebook here, because he remembers the girl crying, and the last thing Isak wants is to make Even cry. Unless Even wants to cry? Isak’s just going to have to wing it. He climbs back up the bed, and places his hands on Even hips. Even startles, because right, Isak probably should have warned him first.

“I’m just taking off your underwear,” Isak says, backing off. “If that’s alright?”

Even nods, or Isak thinks he nods, it’s hard to tell with his face against the pillows like that, and god, Isak hopes Even can breathe lying the way he is. He hopes Even would tell him if he couldn’t. Even asphyxiating in his bed would be a total mood killer for one, but also, Isak really doesn’t want him to die? Like, ever. Which is another emotion Isak isn’t gonna think about just yet. Instead, he focuses on the problem at hand, namely, how the fuck is he getting Even’s underwear off?

Even solves that problem for him easily enough. As soon as Isak slips his fingers below the waistline of his boxers, Even lifts his hips obligingly, and it only takes a little more maneuvering before Even is completely naked, boxers in a heap on the floor. And shit, Isak’s staring, he knows he is, but it’s not like Even can tell, so.

It’s just, Even’s fucking gorgeous. He’s all long limbs, and pale, smooth skin, and all Isak wants to do is cover Even in kisses, feather-soft and light. The thought of hitting Even, of marring that beautiful body in any way, physically pains Isak, but if a spanking is what Even wants, a spanking is what he is going to get.

Isak grips the feather duster, rolling it in his hand, allowing its weight to settle. He lifts it, and only hesitates for a moment before bringing it down on the top of Even’s thighs.

Even bursts out laughing.

Isak isn’t sure what he expected, but it’s not this.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. He’s bad at this, he knows. But he didn’t think he was that bad.

“Everything’s fine,” Even says, when he finally catches his breath. “I’m just a little ticklish.”

Well fuck. _Now_ what is Isak supposed to do?

“Maybe just use your hand?” Even suggests. Which, obviously. Isak probably should’ve started with that.

“I was just about to,” Isak says. “No talking, remember?”

Even doesn’t respond, just settles deeper into the pillows, but Isak is sure he’s rolling his eyes.

So now Isak actually has to do it, has to hit Even with his bare hand, mark up that lovely ass, and he really doesn’t want to. It’s practically blasphemous. But it’s not like he has a choice, so he grits his teeth and gets on with it.

Once, twice, three times, his hand comes down on the curve of Even’s ass. And he tries to enjoy it, he does, because Even’s enjoying it (at least Isak hopes Even’s enjoying it), but the redder Even’s ass becomes, the worse Isak feels. He spanks Even maybe a total of five times before he stops. He can’t do this anymore. Not really.

Even must sense that something’s wrong, because he turns, and that’s when it all goes to shit. The old shoelaces tying him to the lamp finally snaps, and Even startles, causing him to pull at the scarf tied to his other wrist, which undoes the knot that Isak had worked so hard on.

Whatever Even was going to say is lost. He looks down at the mess of scarf and string around him and then back up Isak, amusement dancing in his eyes, and Isak cannot deal.

“Shut up,” he says. “Just, shut up.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Even says innocently. It isn’t convincing in the slightest.

“Yes you were,” Isak sighs in defeat. “You were about to mock my knot-tying skills. And before you do, I would like the record to show that I am the master of knot-tying, and you just have incredibly uncooperative wrists.”

“Master of knot-tying, hm?” Even waggles his eyebrows, which really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, but there you go. That’s Even in a nutshell. Isak’s too busy admiring Even’s eyebrows, of all things, that he almost misses when Even asks, “Would you like me to call you that?”

“Call me what?”

“Master. Would you like me to call you master?” And even Even’s eyebrows are not enough to distract Isak from everything that’s wrong with that question.

“Oh _hell_ no.” The answer is out of his mouth before Isak can really think about it, but really? Master? There is so much wrong with that, Isak doesn’t even know where to begin. Even doesn’t seem surprised, though. Instead he pats the bed invitingly, as if it were his and not Isak’s, which again, should feel obnoxious but somehow doesn’t. Isak sits.

“So. You really don’t have a sex dungeon, do you?” Even says. It’s not a question, so Isak doesn’t even try to deny it. He just shrugs, looking at his hands, the floor, his dirty laundry – anywhere but at Even.

“So why did you say that you did?” This time it is a question, one Isak would rather not answer, but he feels like he owes Even an explanation.

“Technically, it was Magnus who said I was into all this stuff,” Isak says. “I didn’t realize that’s what he told you until you were already here, and then I went along with it because I didn’t want you to leave.”

Even chuckles a little at that, and Isak flushes, embarrassed. He moves to get up, to walk away from the humiliation, but Even stops him with a touch to his wrist.

“Hey,” he says, so gently Isak could cry. “Want to hear a secret?”

Isak only nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“I’ve never done this before either. But I thought spanking me was what you wanted, so I went with it. I didn’t want to leave either.”

And… that can’t be right. Isak looks up quickly, searching. Even’s expression practically bleeds sincerity, and Isak begins to feel the weight in his chest ease.

“So when did you figure it out?” 

“I had my suspicions when you broke out the shoelaces, but the feather duster spanking is what sealed the deal,” Even answers, laughing a little. 

“And you let me do it anyway?” Isak shoves Even in retribution, and Even lets him. It’s nice, friendly, and what little trepidation Isak had been holding on to is all but gone now.

“Like I said, I’ve never done this before. If I didn’t let you spank me, how would I know if I liked it?”

The logic isn’t terrible. But it’s not terribly convincing either.

“And did you like it?” Call it morbid curiosity. Or science, as Magnus would say.

“Not really,” Even answers, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Not because of you!” he rushes to add, “it’s just, I don’t like feeling… not in control like that, all tied up. And then the spanking itself was just uncomfortable.”

Which, Isak understands. Being on the giving end wasn’t particularly comfortable either. But maybe Even would like it better if he were in Isak’s place.

“Maybe you’d like it better if you were in my place?” Isak suggests.

Even freezes, then turns to look at Isak, surprised. “Are – are you asking me spank you?”

“Well, maybe not that,” Isak clarifies. “But I don’t know, maybe you can do something else? Something less… uncomfortable?”

Even looks Isak over, and Isak is suddenly aware that he isn’t wearing all that much. Neither is Even, but somehow Even wears his nakedness with a confidence that Isak can’t even imagine commanding. The look is heated, and full of promise, and Isak shivers. Even licks his lips, and shit, this is probably a bad idea, but at this point Isak can’t bring himself to care.

“Alright, if we’re going to do this, you’re gonna need a safe word.” 

Isak doesn’t remember safe words being a part of _50 Shades of Grey._

“I don’t remember them talking about safe words in _50 Shades,_ ” he says.

“Is that where you’ve been getting your information from? No wonder you’re so bad at this,” Even says, rolling his eyes.

Well, fair.

“A safe word is a word you say when you don’t feel comfortable with the direction things are going,” Even explains. “You say the word, and I stop what I’m doing immediately, okay?”

“So like, a secret code?” Isak asks. 

“Yeah, exactly like that!” Even seems pleased that Isak is catching on. “A secret code to let me know when you want things to go back to normal.”

That… sounds reasonable. Maybe this isn't such a terrible idea after all.

“So what kind of word do I pick?” Isak asks. “Like, I’m assuming ‘stop’ is too simple.”

“Well, it’s your word,” Even says. “You get to pick. But no, I wouldn’t recommend stop. Maybe, I don’t know. What makes you feel safe? We’ll go with that. What’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”

And that’s easy.

“Jonas,” Isak blurts out. He doesn’t even need to think about it. Which, should probably concern him, when he thinks about it, that he feels so comfortable discussing his best friend while negotiating sex with the beautifully naked boy in his bed.

“Who’s Jonas?” Even asks, eyes narrowed. If Isak didn’t know better, he’d think Even was jealous. But that would be ridiculous. Jonas is his best friend.

“Jonas is my best friend,” Isak says. He looks down, tugs at a loose thread on the edge of his pillowcase. “First person I ever came out to, actually.” That was more information than he intended to give, but there’s something about Even that makes Isak think he’d genuinely want to know. When he looks back up, Even is smiling, wide and crinkle-eyed, and Isak’s stomach swoops at the sight.

“That’s… a bit unconventional for a safe word, but I love it.”

“I can change it?” Isak offers. “Pick something else? Like, blankets? Ramen? _Mad Max_?”

“Oh no, we’re keeping it,” Even says. “It’s amazing. If you want me to stop, ‘Jonas’ is the word.”

Isak nods. The more he thinks about it, the weirder it is. There must be something in the Bro Code about taking thy best bro’s name in vain, but what Jonas doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Besides, Even seems delighted by the idea, so who is Isak to take that away from him?

“So,” Even says, hesitating only a little. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Isak says. Or he tries to anyway, but it comes out as more of a squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “I was born ready.”

That earns him another one of Even’s quick grins, and Isak gives himself a mental pat on the back. Then Even’s face turns serious again, his gaze sharp, and Isak feels goosebumps rise on his skin.

“Kiss me,” Even says. It’s an order, not a request.

Part of Isak finds it kind of hot, and he suddenly understands what all those girls (and Magnus) saw in that Caleb guy from the movie. But a far larger part of him is a little shit who resents being ordered around, and when Even demanded a kiss, he didn’t specify where.

So Isak does what he’s been waiting far, far too long to do, and presses a soft, feather-light kiss to the slope of Even’s shoulder. When Even doesn’t stop him, he continues to make his way down Even’s arm, across his chest, along his abdomen. Isak stops for a moment when he reaches Even’s bellybutton, and is pleased to see that Even is trembling with the effort of keeping still. Isak exhales, blowing cool air against Even’s skin and watching in delight as the fine hairs ghosting Even’s abdomen rise in response.

“Stop,” Even says, breathless, and it kills Isak to pull away, but that’s the game they’re playing. He sits back and looks up at Even, waiting for his next command, waiting for Even to catch his breath. Isak’s never been good at waiting for what he wants, and right now he wants Even. He considers, briefly, saying ‘Jonas’ to end the charade, but he thinks for Even’s sake he can hold out a little longer.

“Kiss me properly now,” Even finally says. And that, Isak can do. He winds his hands through Even’s hair and goes for it, like he did back in the bar’s bathroom, what feels like ages ago now. He licks into Even’s mouth, reveling in the slick glide of tongue against tongue. It’s good, no, it’s better than good, because Even is giving back just as good as he gets, kissing Isak hard enough to make his toes curl against the slightly ratty carpet covering his bedroom floor.

Even shifts in Isak’s arms, angling his head to deepen the kiss, and Isak is fucked. He’s hard now, and he doesn’t think he’s gotten this hard this fast in ages. He rocks his hips against Even, trying to relieve some of the pressure building in his cock, and groans into the kiss at the contact.

Then Even pulls away, and Isak can’t help but stare. Even’s mouth is red and spit-slick from the kiss. And fuck, Isak sat through fucking _hours_ of the movie that must not be named, and he doesn’t think he’s seen anything hotter in all that time. All he wants to do is kiss Even senseless, but when he moves back in to do exactly that, Even stops him with a light tap to the tip of his nose.

It’s adorable, but also, what the actual fuck?

“I’m supposed to be the one calling the shots here, remember?” Even says, and right, that is what they decided. 

“Yeah, I remember,” Isak sighs, already regretting the decision. He may as well resign himself to his fate of death by blue balls now. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Even smirks, sharp and wicked, and Isak swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Strip,” Even says, and fuck if that order doesn’t go directly to Isak’s dick.

Isak had almost forgotten that he was still in his boxers. He pulls them off quickly, almost falling over in his rush to kick them away, but once again, Even stops him.

“No, not like that,” Even says. “Do it _properly_.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but what Even says goes, so he pulls his boxers back on. Then, looking Even dead in the eye, he slowly edges the waistband of his underwear down his hips. He feels ridiculous, doing in five minutes what can easily be done in two seconds, but watching Even’s eyes track Isak’s movements with single-minded focus is gratifying, validating even. God, Isak is so far gone he doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks as long as it’s for Even.

He inches his boxers down, lower and lower until there’s really nothing left to do but step out of them. Struck by a flash of inspiration, Isak turns away from Even, giving him an excellent view of his ass as he bends over to pick them up off the floor and toss them in a corner with the rest of his dirty laundry. He can’t see Even’s reaction, but the slightly strangled sound he makes is extremely satisfying. Isak turns back to Even, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face, cock as hard as ever, waiting for Even’s next move.

“Touch yourself,” is what Even says next, and Isak is all too happy to oblige.

Isak waits until Even is looking at him, really looking at him, and then licks a long, wet stripe down the center of his palm, eyes locked on Even all the while. Even swallows, audibly, and Isak would fist pump in celebration if he didn’t think it would make him look like a tool. Instead, he settles for fisting his cock roughly, stroking it in one torturously slow motion.

He keeps going, a little faster now, wrist twisting sharply at the end before sliding back along his length with a grip just this side of painful. It’s good, better than when he’s on his own, because now he has Even watching, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, but it’s still not enough.

It’s not enough, because it’s not Even, and if it’s not Even, then what’s the point? Isak keeps stroking, because Even hasn’t told him to stop, but then again, Even hasn’t told him not to stop either, and damn but this waiting for permission thing is a total mindfuck. He’s ready for the game to end now. 

“Jonas!” he gasps, and damn, he really should have thought this one through a little better, because Jonas is his bro and all, but he’s a bro who is also a major mood killer, and Isak can feel his erection flag, just a little.

Even looks like he’s about to ask what’s wrong, and that just won’t do, because Isak has waited long enough, he doesn’t have the patience for another discussion about safewords, or secret codes, or whatever. Instead, he grabs Even’s hand and wraps it around his own, letting Even set the pace of his strokes. 

Even’s eyes light up at this, but his hand slows down, and fuck, Isak knew getting Even involved would be so much better that going it alone. It’s different, with Even jerking him off. It’s a different rhythm, different speed, different callouses catching against the smooth skin of his cock, and all too quickly Isak is coming. It’s unexpected how quickly he comes. He’s lasted long enough not to be embarrassed, but at the same time, Isak could have let Even touch his cock all night.

Even reaches for Isak, probably to clean him up, wipe away the come splattered pretty much everywhere, but Isak bats his hands away and drops to his knees instead. He swallows Even down in one, and he’s quite proud of the strangled groan that elicits. He’s not the best at blowjobs, but he’s decent enough. More importantly, he’s enthusiastic, and judging by Even’s stream of broken-off curses and aborted moans, Even appreciates it.

Isak uses his hands on whatever he can’t fit in his mouth, bobbing up and down on Even’s cock as smoothly as he knows how. He flattens his tongue against the tip, licking away the precome beading there, before bobbing back down. He’s never tried to deepthroat before, but as Even said, how will he know if he likes it if he doesn’t try? So he tries, gagging a bit as he does. Even’s cock isn’t particularly thick, but Isak had underestimated the length, and although he can think of worse ways to die than choking on Even’s cock, he’d really rather not die at all, at least not until Even comes.

When Even finally does come, the only warning Isak gets is Even’s hand tugging at his hair, and okay, in retrospect it’s clear that Even was trying to pull him away, but at the time Isak cannot be blamed for thinking it was Even urging him on. The point is, Isak isn’t particularly prepared for the mouthful of come he gets for his efforts, so when he splutters and spits most of it out on the floor, Even has no right to look so amused.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but, are you alright?” he asks, laughter still dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Isak answers, a little absent-mindedly. He’s too busy looking around for a towel or a t-shirt or something to wipe his hands, and most importantly, his mouth on. Even hands him a cloth, and it isn’t until it’s covered in come that Isak realizes it’s his maroon scarf. The one he had used to tie Even to the chair. That scarf. His favorite one. Which is now covered in come.

If that isn’t a perfect encapsulation of Isak’s night so far, he doesn’t know what is.

“So. That went well,” Even says. It’s more of a statement than a question, and Isak is startled to realize that for the first time all night, Even seems… scared.

“Yeah, it went well,” Isak answers. He smiles as gently as he knows how, loving the way the tension bleeds out of Even’s face at the sight. “Sorry I used my codeword so fast. I wasn’t sure if I should, but I’m really bad at delayed gratification.”

“Did it look like I had a problem with that?” Even waggles his eyebrows, and Isak wonders if anyone ever told him they’d freeze that way.

“Still,” Isak insists. “I should’ve let you boss me around a bit more, at least. Or like, maybe I should’ve been calling you master. You know, to give you the full experience.”

“Nah, I don’t like that word,” Even says, sitting down on the bed. “It makes me feel old, like I should have a long white beard, and a humpback from hunching over my alchemy books or something.”

“Alchemy? What the fuck? No one studies alchemy anymore!” Isak isn’t sure what he finds more offensive – the thought of people studying alchemy, or the thought that Even thinks people study alchemy. It’s not even a real science.

Whatever Isak was going to say next dries up in his throat when Even stretches. Isak is struck momentarily speechless by the simplicity of the movement, the way it throws his muscles into sharp relief. He wants to study Even, wants to map out the tendons and ligaments holding his beautiful bones together, wants to learn the lines and planes of his body. It’s a sentimental thought, and a silly one to have over a boy he just met, so Isak banishes it, begins picking broken bits of shoelace off the floor to give himself something else to focus on.

“I do think you should have called me something, though” Even continues, oblivious to Isak’s inner crisis. “How about Sir?” Even asks in English.

Isak mulls that one over. “No,” he decides. “I don’t think I could take you seriously as a ‘sir.’ ‘Sir’s are knights in shining armor, and you look like you’d fall right off the horse.” Besides, English is a stupid language, and has no place in the bedroom.

Even snorts. “Horses are evil, don’t let them tell you otherwise.”

Isak grins. “You strike me as more of the roleplaying type anyway,” he says. “Professor, maybe?”

“Oooh, I like that idea,” Even says. His enthusiasm is endearing. “And you could be my struggling student.”

“What? No. I was an amazing student, fuck you very much,” Isak says indignantly. “I don’t like this scenario anymore.” He tries to think of all the weird-ass heterosexual porn Magnus made him sit through and analyze. “How about daddy?”

Even looks vaguely nauseated at the thought. 

“How about you just call me Even?” he suggests. “As in, yes, Even, I’d love to go out for coffee sometime.”

And when put like that, how can Isak refuse?

“Yes, Even, I’d love to go out for coffee sometime,” Isak parrots back at him, loving the way Even’s whole face lights up in response.

They can figure out everything else later. Right now, there’s a beautiful boy in Isak’s bed, and if Isak doesn’t kiss him, he just might die. 

So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://www.shakespeare-and-sunshine.tumblr.com) :)


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